


I'll Follow You Anywhere

by astouract



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astouract/pseuds/astouract
Summary: Jaskier saves Geralt’s life after spending three months apart, and Geralt finds it HOT. AF. This reunion just got a whooole lot better. NSFW.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 186





	I'll Follow You Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first mxm smut, and I am not okay. Is it hot in here?? It’s hot in here. I’m fine, everything’s fine.

Geralt was in bad shape. This bruxa was the strongest he’d ever come into contact with and, even with his elixir pumping through his veins, he was losing his advantage. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, he was supposed to be at the inn he and Jaskier had agreed on, waiting for the bard to arrive in the morning. He should’ve been tucked in a corner booth, nursing an ale, but he’d heard talk of a vampire attacking townsfolk and the fool couldn’t resist a challenge. 

He swung at the womanoid and missed, his silver sword slicing through thin air as she disappeared into the darkness. This was her advantage. Although bruxae didn’t mind the sun, they preferred to hunt at night, moving quickly under the cover of shadows. She appeared again to his left, swiped, and her long talons cut though his bicep like paper.   
The witcher reached for his silver knuckles, just barely sliding them onto his fingers before the bruxa lunged again. He pulled back and struck her with a sickening crack, sending her flying into a tree trunk. Geralt advanced on her, but she was fast and met him halfway. His eyes caught the way her feet planted themselves firmly in the earth, the way she arched her back just slightly. She opened her mouth and Geralt made the sign Quen.

She screeched, a deafening scream that knocked Geralt off of his feet despite the sign. His head slammed against the ground, and the bruxa scuttled over to where he lay, baring her fangs and raising her talons for him to see. He weighed his options, but he no longer had his sword and his stamina was at an all time low. Geralt thought of Jaskier, showing up in the morning to think that the witcher had stood him up, and he couldn’t deny the pang of guilt that gripped his chest. 

The bruxa swung. Geralt flinched. 

There was a scream, but it didn’t belong to him or the creature. And then, the bruxa’s head fell at Geralt’s side, the rest of its body following suit shortly after. He looked up, bewildered, and his eyes found Jaskier where the bruxa once stood. His chest was heaving, Geralt’s sword gripped in his unsteady hands that were still held out towards the vampire. His hair was a disaster, having fallen into his eyes, and he was lacking a doublet. Geralt would be lying if he said the sight didn’t send a wave of heat straight to his cock. 

“Jaskier?”

The bard’s wild gaze darted to Geralt, who winced as he rose to sit. Something changed in Jaskier’s eyes and he tossed the sword to the side, dropping to his knees and throwing himself at the witcher. 

“Gods, Geralt, it was going to kill you!” Jaskier cried into his neck. His arms kept releasing Geralt, just to wrap themselves tighter around the man and pull him impossibly closer. 

“What would you have done if I wasn’t there?”

“Died.”

This time Jaskier released him so he could slap his chest, a range of emotions flashing in the bard’s eyes. “You were just going to lie there and let it kill you, weren’t you? You didn’t even try to get your sword--” His voice failed him, and Geralt decided it was his turn to pull Jaskier close. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, trying--and failing--to ignore the fact that Jaskier was now properly in his lap. 

“You mean other than saving your moronic life?” He snapped, but Geralt heard the soft worry that was hidden underneath. “I got to the inn early, and there was talk of a witcher who was going to rid them of their vampire problem. Of course I had to come find you which, now that I think about it, probably wasn’t the smartest idea. But, you’re lucky I acted without thinking, because when I got here you were on your back with a sexy whatever that was looming over you. . .”

Geralt watched in amusement as Jaskier went on his obligatory rant, praying to the gods that the bard couldn’t feel his erection every time he shuffled in his lap. 

“. . . So, I guess what I’m trying to say is you’re welcome, and you’re an idiot with no sense of self preservation. Why are you looking at me like that?” Jaskier scowled.

“Thank you,” Geralt said softly, letting a hand fall to rest on the other man’s hip, “For saving me.”

Jaskier’s gaze dropped to the new touch, before darting back up to search Geralt’s eyes. “You’re. . . Welcome. I--”

“Where did you learn to do that?” Geralt interrupted, denying himself the act of brushing the hair away from Jaskier’s eyes. 

“Do what?”

“You decapitated that bruxa, that’s not easy to do.”

Geralt saw Jaskier flush, his cheeks blooming pink. “I, um, I’ve been teaching myself to fight--with the blade you gave me--just in case. I’m a lot more vulnerable without you, you know.” 

Geralt grunted with a nod. “But not anymore, it seems.” He shifted uncomfortably in a desperate attempt to get any kind of relief, and then, something in the atmosphere changed.   
Jaskier knew, and he was wanting. 

“It’s been a long three months,” The bard murmured, looping his arms back around Geralt’s neck. 

The witcher hummed in agreement, his eyes settling on Jaskier’s lips. They were so close he could feel Jaskier’s breath fanning his face, he could smell the adrenaline and need coursing through his body and, if he just moved an inch, he could taste the poet’s lips. 

Fuck the damnable yearning. Geralt surged forward, capturing Jaskier’s lips with his own, inviting himself into the bard’s mouth with a bold swipe of his tongue. He tasted faintly of wine, Geralt noticed, his head swimming as his hands wandered, over Jaskier’s hip and around to his rear to give it a squeeze.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” Jaskier groaned. He tangled his fingers in the witcher’s hair and, giving it a sharp tug, forced Geralt’s head back so he could attach his mouth to his jaw.  
Jaskier’s lips were experienced, sucking and nipping at the skin on Geralt’s neck, acting on the cues the witcher didn’t realize he was giving. Geralt offered a strangled whine from deep in his throat when Jaskier found the spot just under his ear, his hips bucking up to meet Jaskier’s. 

“Do you--oh my gods, Geralt, you’re bleeding.” Jaskier pulled away suddenly, eyes straining under the moonlight to see the wound on his arm. 

“I’m fine,” Geralt grumbled, annoyed by the absence of Jaskier’s touch. He was so hard it was almost painful, but the bard reeked of worry even more than lust. 

“No, you aren’t. You’re bleeding, bleeding.” Jaskier thought for a moment, and then climbed off of the witcher’s lap. “You can’t stay like this,” he stated, his tone hard-set. “It’ll get infected, we have to get you cleaned up. Now.”

Geralt groaned impatiently. “Jaskier.”

“Geralt, don’t make me kick your ass. You know that I can.” He stood with his hands on his hips and Geralt smiled fondly, despite his annoyance. 

“I’d like to see you try.”

Jaskier took him by the other arm and forced him to his feet, grumbling something about a brat under his breath. “I think it was this way,” he said, grabbing Geralt’s sword and leading him back towards the inn. Except, he was leading them in the complete opposite direction, so Geralt spun Jaskier around and got them back on track. 

It was an uncomfortably silent walk, and all Geralt could think about was getting Jaskier underneath him, mewling and begging for everything Geralt had to offer. Maybe he’d take him in the bath, or against the door in their room, or maybe he’d shove the bard into the darkest corner booth he could find in the tavern, and see how long Jaskier could keep quiet for. He shuddered at the thought. 

“This is all your fault,” Jaskier sniped, not even trying to hide the fact that he was palming himself through his trousers. 

“How is it my fault? You’re the one who left to teach for three months.” 

Jaskier groaned. “And you let me!”

Geralt paused, confusion contorting his features. “Am I supposed to govern everything you do? Jaskier, I don’t control you. And stop doing that” His eyes were glued to the bard’s hand, rubbing himself shamelessly. 

“You didn’t even ask me to stay. I would have stayed with you, Geralt.” There was such longing in his voice that Geralt felt his chest constrict. 

“And no, I won’t stop. Because you--ahh--had to go and nearly get yourself killed, the night before our reuinion! I’ve been pent up for three months!”

Geralt lunged for Jaskier, protecting the back of his head as he pushed him up against the nearest tree. “So, you haven’t been with anybody this whole time?”

“Of course not,” Jaskier said indignantly, “Now let’s go. The sooner you’re treated, the better.” 

“If my arm gets infected, let it. But right now, all I want to do is take you against this tree until you scream my name so loud that everyone in Sodden can hear you.”

Jaskier whimpered, letting his forehead fall to rest on Geralt’s shoulder as he rolled their hips together. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want anything happening to you.”

Geralt hummed his agreement, letting his hands roam greedily over Jaskier’s body as he slotted their thighs together. Jaskier reached up to pull Geralt’s lips to meet his own, his tongue exploring the witcher’s mouth like he owned it--and he did. Geralt worked at the laces on Jaskier’s trousers as the bard fumbled with his, until they pried themselves apart to lose the articles of clothing. 

“Do you have the oil on you?” Geralt asked, his chest heaving as he pressed Jaskier back into the rough bark on the tree. 

Jaskier nodded as Geralt attached himself to his neck, wasting no time in suckling the spot under his jaw that made his legs weak. “In my bag.”

“I’m not going to ask why.” Geralt snatched the satchel off of the forest floor, and Jaskier watched as he dipped his fingers into the oil. 

“Conversation for another time,” The bard teased, but the smug expression was wiped clean from his face when Geralt sheathed himself inside Jaskier without warning. 

“Fuck! Geralt!” He gripped the panting witcher’s shoulders so hard they would likely bruise, and Geralt stilled inside Jaskier as he adjusted to the intrusion. 

Geralt stood with one hand on Jaskier’s hip, the other just above his head to pin him to the tree and keep him upright. It took every ounce of self control in his body to allow Jaskier to adjust, resting his forehead against the bard’s and just breathing him in. He smelled of wine and spice and lust, and it all stirred together in his head to form the dizzying scent of home. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, squeezing the witcher’s shoulders to pull him from his daze. “Move. Please. I need more.”

Geralt groaned, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in, his hips snapping against Jaskier’s as he gave, and took, everything he had and then some. Jaskier was a mewling mess underneath him, precome wetting both of their stomachs. Geralt took Jaskier’s cock in hand, drawing a sinful moan from the bard’s lips as he worked him closer to the edge. 

The otherwise peaceful forest was filled with the sounds of sex, skin slapping against skin and Jaskier’s moans that grew louder by the second. The bard fisted a hand into Geralt’s white hair, tugging roughly, the witcher groaning lowly as he let Jaskier’s mouth claim him. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier choked out, “I’m close.”

“I know,” Geralt growled, his own orgasm was building too, Jaskier’s pants and moans pushing him closer and closer to the precipice. 

Geralt moved his head so that his lips just barely brushed the shell of Jaskier’s ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this, Jaskier.”   
The bard whimpered, and Geralt felt his legs beginning to tense and tremble. “Geralt--” he strained, his blue eyes meeting his witcher’s. 

“Come for me, Jaskier,” He rasped, scraping his teeth against the other man’s ear. Jaskier cried out, blunt fingernails leaving angry lines down Geralt’s back and shoulders as he spilled over into the witcher’s hand, screaming Geralt’s name. 

Geralt swore, his eyes squeezing shut as he chased his release, filling Jaskier with his hot seed and rolling their hips together still as he rode out the waves of pleasure. 

“Fuck,” He whispered, wrapping an arm around Jaskier’s waist to hold the bard up as his legs turned to jelly. He pressed his lips to Jaskier’s, who hummed contentedly and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck. 

“Like I said,” Jaskier slurred, “I’m never leaving you alone again.”

Geralt smiled, pressing their foreheads together. “Or, I’ll just follow you to Oxenfurt next time.”

“Deal.” 

There was a moment of silence, and then, 

“Can we go get you taken care of now? I’d very much like you to have two hands, if you know what I mean.”


End file.
